Beloved
by EverybodyLovesAYeti
Summary: Bella's always been a collector of things the sea has to offer. After a massive storm she finds a most valuable treasure in the form of a lost man. One-Shot. Complete.


Pen name: EverybodyLovesAYeti  
Rating: NC17  
Pairing: Edward/Bella  
Title: Beloved  
Fandom: Twilight  
Summary: Bella's always been a collector of things the sea has to offer. After a massive storm she finds a most valuable treasure in the form of a lost man.  
A/N: This is the one-shot I wrote for Fics for Nashville. I hope you guys like it.

* * *

Waves rushed against the rocky shoreline, crisp and salty. Each rock and pebble clicked and clacked against the other as my feet passed over and pressed against the smooth surfaces. My dress whipped in angry patterns around my knees, tangled in the misty air. Goosebumps rose along the lines of my bare skin, little warriors against the cold.

The sea air coated me in its brine, clean and refreshing. My breath escaped my lungs in heady gusts, short and rapid. Anticipation built within me, beneath my ribcage and crowding in my gut.

Full and bursting, I pulled my hair back with one hand and turned to face the angry sea. My eyes widened. My face split, an eager feeling spilling forth. Waves rose like monsters, dark and ready to consume. Something was happening within these ocean depths.

Rain poured around me, licking at my frozen skin. Thunder cracked the tumultuous sky and lightening split the dark clouds. The storm swathed me in its dark and raucous arms.

I sat, continuously pushing wayward curls from my eyes, as rocks dug into the supple curves of my damp skin. Waves crashed harder than before, attempting to break the unyielding earth and pull it into the undulating water.

I finally stood, making my way up the dock to the stairs and returning to the safety of the little log cabin

* * *

Late into the night candles burned and the storm pounded. I remained meshed into the couch. The vinyl cracked and popped as it played on the old turn table behind me. Surrounded by photo albums and boxes full of pressed flowers and old trinkets, I felt nostalgia settle heavy like an old friend across my shoulders. The light of the flames danced along the old polaroid's like ghosts casting shadows.

Wrinkled hands, weathered and worn. A golden wedding band, simple and demure. A face lined with age and laughter. Sparkling eyes and mischievous wayward hair. My grandmothers' face smiled from behind the cracks in the photograph. The back was dated October 1965. This was one of my favorite pictures. Solitary and strong, she had been a woman of few words and much patience. I could almost smell the aged silk of the scarves she always wore.

My face ached and tears lingered on my lashes as I set the photo aside with tender fingers. Swift hands swiped at my cheeks and scrubbed my eyes. I reached for the mug on the side table to wash the lingering mourning from my mouth only to find it cold.

I hefted myself from the couch and walked with heavy steps to the kitchen. As I was filling the kettle I glanced outside to observe the still raging storm. Through the water-heavy branches lightening flashed, illuminating the bay and a lone figure on the dock.

I scrambled to the window, pushing the lace curtains aside, and scanned the area with frantic eyes. Fear and concern warred inside me. Every horror movie I'd ever watched flashed through my mind. I swallowed the sudden tension in my throat.

Lightening flashed again. The figure, broad and tall, had turned to face the cabin. Fear won out. I double-checked the locks and searched for something to defend myself with. Finding a flare gun in the boating kit, I returned to the kitchen window.

My breath became trapped in my lungs. I wished now, more than ever, that I had listened to my mother when she had urged me to install a phone line. My truck was of no use, parked in the shed and in need of a new transmission, so I stayed with my nose pressed to the glass.

Another flash of lightening, he was at the bottom of the steps. Again and he was standing on the porch. The rain lessened. The storm was passing. A final echoing clap of thunder and lingering streak of flashing light and he was there, behind the glass, all alabaster skin and horror stricken eyes.

And then the darkness fell and my scream abated and I woke up. My tea was cold and the flare gun lay harmlessly on the coffee table.

* * *

I dismissed the odd occurrences of the night before not wanting to dwell on the erratic way my heart had beat. Instead I spent the morning with the windows wide open. The air swelled with the sounds of bird songs, fresh and fragrant with the smell of pine. I reverently packed away the photo albums and the old things into their worn and crumbling boxes.

I sat back when I was done, sipping cool water from a condensation covered glass. A breeze whirled past me, lifting my hair and I sighed. Nostalgia still fluttered in my chest, warm and achy.

My head lolled against the back of the couch and I eyed the stack of boxes next to the ladder that led to the attic. Going through my grandmothers things been hard but it was necessary. After her death my mother had been the one to come pack things away. I had been too busy, too young, too stupid to care the way I should have.

I had inherited the small cabin and its contents and for years had not ventured up here. Part of me was still ashamed for acting the way I had acted after my grandmothers' death. I plunked the glass on the coffee table and shook myself.

One by one I returned each box to the attic. I was sweating and grunting as I heaved the last box up the steps of the ladder. Dust swirled around my head, thick and choking, playing with the light that came in through the only window. I slid the box into the space and finally hefted myself up into the tiny room.

I pushed each box into its rightful place and covered them with tarps to keep from water damage. I desperately needed to get the roof re-shingled. As I was covering the last box movement from the far corner caught my eye. I turned so quickly to face it that I plopped hard on my butt, hurting my tailbone.

A familiar alabaster face stared at me from the dark corner. I choked on my scream, an odd guttural noise the only thing I could emit. I inched back towards the opening. He remained huddled in the corner, knees pulled to his chest.

"Who are you?" I whispered. "What do you want?"

My fingers skittered across the wooden slats, fighting to find the ladder. He never moved, instead his keen eyes followed me. Curiosity shone bright in the leafy-green depths. As I finally latched on to the top of the ladder, his eyes, having caught the movement, flashed and he disappeared between the slats like rushing water.

I yelped, the only sound in the entire cabin.

* * *

Over the next couple days I had the feeling I was being watched. It was enough to motivate me to make the mile long trip into town just to use the payphone.

"Mom, I swear there's something in that cabin and it's not rats." I huddled in the booth; afraid someone might hear the conversation and start rumors that Dame Swan's granddaughter was a nutcase. They were probably right.

"Bella," Renee's voice was exasperated. "I think you need to either get out of that cabin more often because that much solitary confinement is obviously not healthy, or invite one of your little friends for a visit. Preferably one that's male, attractive and can wield a baseball bat." She chuckled at her own joke. I rolled my eyes.

"You're sure nothing else inhabited the cabin when you were here?" I played with the chord. My voice was whiny, irritating.

"Nothing but those behemoth mosquitoes."

We said our goodbyes and ended the call with a resigned click. I pushed my hand through the thick tangles of my hair. With one foot in front of the other I followed the dirt road back to the cabin.

* * *

My shoes stayed safe on the dock as I traipsed knee-deep in the cold Atlantic waters. I hadn't had the time to wander and search for little treasures since the storm. Partly because I had focused my attention on cleaning out the cabin and sorting through things but mostly because I was terrified he would be here.

I toed the pebbles, humming show tunes from _Annie_. The wind was calm today, more like a caress, and the sun shone bright making the water sparkle.

There was plenty of driftwood and sea glass. The bottom of my shirt hung heavy with my findings; cradled as they were against my stomach, dripping water down my front. I pushed a mottled clump of sea grass to the side. I watched it drift along the pebbled surface, tossing in the ebb and flow of the gently lapping waters.

It passed over something shimmering, caught on the ocean floor. I waded deeper into the water. My attention immediately focused on the bauble. My hand dove swift through the shallow water. My fingers tangled in the thin gold chain and I pulled. Rocks shifted, spitting up dirt from below.

The glistening chain unraveled, a single oval charm hung from the end. It was thick with a hinge and a clasp and well-worn engraving. A tiny barnacle clung to the underside. I set it into the curl of my shirt.

Turning towards the dock I startled at find the ghost-man standing there. He was watching me, his head cocked to the side. He seemed to be in a perpetual state of wet. His clothes hung heavy on his lanky frame. Dark pants and tall leather boots. His shirt sagged like it didn't fit him and the laces hung loose in the front. _'He almost looks like a pirate.'_ I mused.

My surprise gave way to frustration and I stormed through the water. He turned to watch me as I moved around him, angling for my shoes.

"Bella?" the sound was like rust, unused and hoarse.

My head jerked up. Surprise and anger swarmed in my head like angry bees. I gave him my nastiest look, all fire and rage.

"Who do you think you are?" My teeth gnashed. I stood up straight to face him, my shoes forgotten. He barely had time to gather his wits about him as I unleashed my fear and frustration from the past few days. "You scare me half to death, hang around in my attic and disappear like it doesn't even matter that you practically gave me a heart attack. Honestly, I don't know what your problem is but you need to go. Leave me alone."

I spun on my heel and left him to his shock. The screen door slammed behind me. My breath was heavy.

Later, after I had calmed, I sat in the rocker on the front porch the locket dangling from my hands. I watched the dock with wary eyes through the twisting chain. My sneakers had not moved and I had not ventured down to get them. I returned my attention to the locket, settling it in the palm of my hand.

I had thumbed the engraving, imaging it was like brail and if I ran my fingers over the indentations eventually I would understand what it said. This, unfortunately, was not the case. I had tried to open the clasp just as many times as my thumb had run over the etching. Alas, the salt had eroded the mechanisms of the clasp and the hinge and it was impossible.

I huffed. A board creaked. My head shot up.

"Are you kidding me?" My tone was biting. He scrambled from his spot leaning against the railing. I pushed myself up from the rocker, determined to leave.

"Wait." His hand shot out to stop me and passed through my arm, leaving a wet chill. "Please." His eyes were intense, tortured.

"What are you?" I finally asked, my voice shaking.

"Dead." He said. "A ghost. A memory." He paused, waiting for a reaction probably.

I wasn't sure how to handle his answer. My first reaction being to laugh in disbelief and my second to scream. I settled on plunking back into the chair. I felt on some level that I had known that would be the answer, had accepted it even. The logical part of my brain reasoned that I needed to find the nearest psychiatric facility.

"Okay." I finally said. Acceptance of the situation won out.

"Okay?" He questioned. Something in my face must have given him the answer he needed. "Okay." He said again, relief flooding his face. "I'm Edward." He crouched so we could see eye-to-eye. I felt like a little kid.

"You already know my name." I said. He nodded. "How?"

Edward managed to look nervous.

"I was watching you."

An embarrassed flush covered my cheeks.

"Why?" I managed to choke out.

"Because."

"That's not an answer."

"No, it isn't." He seemed intent to study my face for a long while. "You're very beautiful." He finally said.

"Thank you."

* * *

Edward rather liked his ability to pop in and out as he pleased, usually at the most inopportune times. As I was getting out of the shower. When I was readying for bed. When I was in the middle of lunch and had a mouthful of turkey sandwich. And he did it as much as possible over the next several days.

He liked to watch me, was fascinated by my every move. I didn't mind too much. It gave me more time to ask him questions.

Where was he from? Boston.

What had his family been like? His father was a carpenter. His mother was a dutiful wife.

How old was he when he died? Twenty-four.

Did that make me a cougar because I was twenty-seven? He'd only laughed.

What was it like to be dead? Cold. Quiet.

How had he died? Drowned. Shipwreck.

"Edward?" I said as I crawled into bed, pulling the covers up around my ears. He had liked tucking me in until he found out that it made the blankets damp. Now he stood at the whicker chair by the doorway.

"Yes?"

Sleep cradled my eyes and I fought to stay awake.

"Will you ever pass on? You know, go into the light, the great beyond, or…whatever?"

There was a long pause and for a second I thought he had left.

"Do you want me to?" It was a whisper, sad and weighted.

I thought for a moment, my consciousness slipping further away.

"I want you to be happy." I didn't hear his response if he had any.

* * *

It was very quiet over the next few days. No sign of Edward anywhere. I was starting to get nervous. And, I'd admit, lonely. I hadn't realized how much time I'd been spending with him.

Instead of waiting around and pining away I grabbed my backpack and made the trek back into town.

"Are you making any friends out there?" Renee sounded distracted. It was sweltering in the booth and I leaned against the side, fanning myself with a free hand.

"I've met a few people." I hesitated, torn between lying and telling her about Edward.

"Are any of these people cute and male?" I swore it was my mother's mission in life to embarrass me. I pressed a hand to my heated cheeks. And suddenly I had her full attention. "Who is he?"

"His name's Edward. He's from Boston." Not really a lie.

"That's wonderful, Bella." Her voice dripped with motherly affection.

"Yeah, it is." I smiled to myself.

* * *

When I returned to the cabin I was met with a frantic Edward.

"Where have you been?" He demanded his pale face mere inches from mine.

"I could ask the same of you." He balked at my answer. Good.

"What do you mean?" He stammered.

"Don't play stupid, Edward." I pulled groceries from my backpack and placed them in their proper spots. Edward blazed behind me, a whirlwind of wet concern.

"I'm sorry." He finally said.

"Why did you run off?" I turned to him.

"I wanted to see what it would be like." He wouldn't look me in the eye.

"Like what would be like?"

"What it would be like without you." Edward's sheepish glances warmed my cheeks.

"Passing on doesn't mean you'll be without me."

"Right, I'll always have you in my heart? You know what, Bella? That's bullshit. How would you even know? You're not the one who's dead. I'm happy with you. Isn't that enough?" I knew I was trying his patience and still I pushed.

"You can't tell me that you'll stay by my side forever. What happens when I get married? When I have kids? I'll grow older, Edward. You won't."

"Why are you so eager for me to leave?"

"I'm not eager. If I could I'd stay right here with you forever."

Edward moved toward me, never making a sound. His hand left a gentle dewy caress across the skin of my throat, at the point of my throbbing pulse.

"You're crying." He finally said. I wiped my eyes and sniffled. The sadness in the lines around his mouth increased. Edward, the man who would never age, seemed to grown old right before my eyes.

"I'm going to go take a bath, calm down." I wiped at my eyes again and looked anywhere but his face. His mournful eyes and solemn mouth made my lungs ache and my heart squeeze tight.

Steam rose from the shallow gathering of water at the bottom of my tub. I studied my face in the mirror. My eyes were red, and my cheeks splotchy and bright. My lips were chapped. My hair frizzed. My tongue felt swollen in my mouth. I stuck it out at the sad reflection.

I pulled my shirt off and traced the smattering of beauty marks along my collarbone. I unclasped my bra and let it slide to the floor. I studied the swell of my breasts. They sagged a little with tiny pale stretch marks along the top. _'What could he possibly see in me?'_

I moved my hands to my stomach. It wasn't flat. No abs of steel. It was rounded and jiggled when I laughed. I poked myself and jumped when I hit a ticklish spot. The water continued to roar behind me.

I undid the button on my shorts and drew down the zipper. I imagined Edward was real and he was touching me. I slipped my underwear over my thighs. My muscles quivered. My senses heightened.

The steam swirled around me in nonsensical patterns, caressing the peaks of my nipples and running through the light hair on my stomach. I brushed my fingers over the curls at the juncture of my legs, gasping at the sensation.

I shook myself. Remembering the water, I scrambled to shut it off. Twisting my hair atop my head, I tied it with a ribbon from the bath stand. _'What could he possibly see in me?'_

Water slid hot and slick over my skin as I sunk into the curve of the tub. I closed my eyes and leaned back, immersing myself up to my chin. The weight of my time here settled in my cheeks. I felt old, worn. Like the pebbles on the beach that had been smoothed by the waves, the heat from the bathwater was smoothing my edges. In this moment I felt I could sleep for a hundred years and I'd still be tired.

I felt strands of my hair lift away from my forehead and heard the water move as though fingers drifted through it. My eyes snapped open and I rushed to cover myself.

"Edward." I was torn between indignation and embarrassment. His eyes warmed my skin the way his hands never would.

"Wait," he said as I began to reach for my towel, "let me…let me make you feel good. Just this once." With fire in his hair and lust on his lips I was caught, enraptured. How could I say no?

I leaned back again, an arm still covering my chest. Edward looked positively predatory. I felt the muscles in my abdomen quiver and clench. He leaned over the tub, his face wrinkled in concentration. His hand delved into the water and I felt his fingers, long and graceful, graze my hip. I jumped. His touch, so fleeting, had felt so real, as if he were solid.

"Move your arm." My eyes never left his face. The remaining steam drifted between us. I did as he said.

Edwards jaw clenched, his gaze lingering on the rosy tips. His gentle hand moved from the side of the tub to lightly touch the delicate rounded peek. I choked on my breath. Tingles erupted across my breast. Arousal sparked along my spine and blazed in the petals of my lips. I felt the ache of need swirl and settle in my lower stomach.

His eyes, enchanted by the movement of his hand, graced the dip between my breasts and the curve of my sternum down to my stomach. His hand danced across the jut of my hipbone and over the plush delicate skin of my inner thigh. My legs parted wider inviting him deeper.

He barely grazed the hair at the juncture of my legs and I threw my head back, arching against him, nearly coming undone. A noise, deep and throaty, lavished my tongue. I felt feral, primal, beautiful.

He gazed in wonder at the flush that graced my body. My breath had quickened my heart with it.

"Edward." I whispered, worshipping the name; in awe of his ability to make me feel this way. His eyes returned to the dark curls and his hand just barely touching it. And he brushed a single finger along the petal pink skin of my heated center. I moaned again, breathy and lustful.

"Please." I begged, eager for more of his touch. My hands clasped either side of the tub. I was wanton in my desire. He returned his hand to my thigh, sparking and tickling rather than pleasing. I almost wept at his refusal.

"Bella." He spoke, soft and wonderful.

I wanted to touch him; stroke his face and ease his brow. I wanted him to touch me; relieve the ache and make me feel beautiful again.

"You won't forget me, right?" His eyes were filled with that deep sadness again, the one that made my gut twist.

"I refuse to." My voice was fierce, protective.

And in that stunning, brilliant, sorrowful moment Edward pressed his finger to me again. Passion ignited, running rampant through me. His own eyes became determined. I bit my tongue to keep from crying out.

The water swirled and it was as if his hands were everywhere at once, gentle, pulsing. But the most delicious pressure remained pressed against the sweltering heat between my legs, moving, swelling.

I felt consumed, eager. Water sloshed over the sides of the tub. Something frantic built within me, craving more. More heat, more pressure, more pleasure. And suddenly I was flooded with the most fantastic relief. Agonizing and intense, it quenched the ache and left me gasping.

The water stilled. My breath settled. Our needs sated.

That evening as I lay in bed, curled beneath the sheets, with Edward on the floor beside me, I felt melancholy enshroud me. Edward was going to leave. I could hear it in his voice, see it in his eyes, feel it in my bones. Everything he did seemed distant, as if he was already halfway there. And still we laughed. And we talked.

And he told me about the first girl he ever liked. I told him I would miss his eyes. And his hands.

He told me about his first trip out to sea. I told him I wished he still tucked me in even though it made the blankets wet.

He told me he wished he could have met my mom. I told him I wished he could have too.

He told me the beauty marks on my collarbone reminded him of a constellation. He told me he couldn't remember the name. I told him it didn't matter.

"Bella," he said reverently, "I'll always be with you."

"That's bullshit, Edward." He laughed at my tone.

"No, that's not what I meant." His hand passed over the locked resting on my nightstand. I reached for it with delicate hands, as if it would disappear with him. "This was mine." He said.

"What does it say?" I asked.

"Beloved." He whispered. "My mother gave it to me before she passed."

"It won't open." I said.

"I know. It doesn't need to."

I told him I missed him already. He told me he missed me too.

Rain pattered against the rooftop.

He told me he loved me. I told him I loved him too.


End file.
